Grandma Allegedly Got Run Over by a Reindeer
by shywr1ter
Summary: SESA 2016 for Akaeve: It's December 25, 2004, and Gibbs' assistance is needed. From whom ... well, not even Tony has that quite figured out yet.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** this was my gift in NFA's 2016 SESA exchange for Akaeve: I have not told her yet how much thanks I owe her for this prompt, on so many levels, so I won't mention it here until I do. But it took me forever too come to this idea. Once it started, though, I had fun with it – the only downside was that it took me SO long for inspiration I didn't have time to get in everything I would have liked to include. This story is complete in six chapters and an epilogue. I promise to post every few days while I finish up the next chapter in _Seasons_ in the meantime.

Request: general story, without pairings; Gibbs and the Team.

Prompt, in Akaeve's words: "'Fairytale of New York' by Progues/Kirsty McColl or 'Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer' by Elmo and Patsy. I love both those songs, and the ideas that could come out of them."

Timeframe: Season 2

Unexpected additions: two semi-original characters and not so much of a crossover, as movie character references that insisted on making an appearance. Fingers mightily crossed that the movie is known well enough, and the references general enough, that it won't be distracting.

 _A belated Merry Christmas and happy holidays to Akaeve and everyone – and for those of you who celebrate, now that it's official – happy Carnival Season!_

 **GRANDMA ALLEGEDLY GOT RUN OVER BY A REINDEER**

It was coming on dusk on December 25, Gibbs was in his basement, languidly sanding his boat, and the two most ebullient members of his extended team, Abby and DiNozzo, were chattering more and more rapidly and enthusiastically about their plans.

"You should come join us, Gibbs," Abby was directing her attention back to him. "It's for charity, and Tony has been _amazing_ with the team. I mean, he showed me one little thing to change in how I held the ball and like _bam_! Curve, but only when I want to, and where it needs to go. He even showed me a trick to pick up the split."

"Tony's your coach?" Gibbs asked, finding himself relaxed enough to be pulled into their conversation just by being so near their onslaught. "Do you even bowl, DiNozzo?"

"Well, sure, Boss," his agent shrugged. "P. _E._ degree, remember? "E" as in education? And the Ohio State University had the idea that they were sending me out to teach all this stuff, and not just in schools, but in rec halls and community centers and all kinds of places, to all kinds of people. And, to teach them all kinds of sports. So, yeah. I bowl."

"He's _awesome_ , Gibbs..." Abby gushed.

"But I'm an even better coach," he grinned smugly.

"We're gonna win the holiday tournament this year; I know it!" Abby did a little victory dance in place to prepare.

"Boss, you should come," Tony agreed. "You know about Abby's team, right?" His eyes twinkled as he grinned wider, leaning toward Gibbs conspiratorially. "They're ... they're _nuns_ , Gibbs. Real nuns!"

"Why are you always so weird about that, Tony?" Abby rolled her eyes and flapped her hand in what was clearly a repeated gesture of her frustration. "It's not like they take a vow of poverty and chastity and no bowling..."

"But they haven't worn the big floppy hats yet at practice. I'm wondering if they're saving them for the tournament."

"What 'big floppy hats?'" Abby frowned, clearly in new DiNozzo territory.

Gibbs couldn't hide his smirk. "Think he's talking about 'the Flying Nun,' Abbs. Old TV show"

She turned and looked at Tony with disbelieving eyes, waiting. He didn't disappoint. "Well, c'mon, Abbs. I mean ... Gidget? As a nun? Flying around like a swallow at Capistrano?"

"Before my time, Tony..." She said primly.

"Ha! See? You wouldn't know it was before your time if you didn't know who I was talking about..."

Gibbs straightened, looking at them as he wondered again how he had managed to get two such adolescent types on his team, who were so damn good at their jobs on the clock...

And Tony got the hint. "We better get going, Boss. Sister Rosita is bringing a couple of the newer team members out for an hour or so for some extra help. We were gonna grab a pizza after. Want us to get extra and bring it by? Nothing says Christmas dinner like pizza and beer with the fam."

To his surprise, Gibbs thought that might be just the right thing to keep his mind off his usual, more morose Christmas thoughts. "I got the beer. Lucky for you two; hard to find a package store open on Christmas night."

"Not if you're a cop who knows local cops," Tony grinned widely. "See ya in a couple hours, Boss."

* * *

Abby and Tony bustled up the stairs and through Gibbs' living room to the front door. A half step behind Abby, Tony opened the door for her and the pair came face to face with another pair – a pair of stone-faced, squeaky-clean-cut men in black suits, white shirts, narrow black ties, and overly-serious expressions.

"Gibbs here?" the older one asked.

"Who's asking?" Tony stepped out around Abby and slid in between her and the men.

Abby's eyes grew wide as she tipped forward slightly toward Tony's ear and stage-whispered, "ohmygawd Tony, they look just like..."

"Agents 'J' and 'K' from _Men in Black_? Yeah, Abbs, I see that..." Tony frowned. "Except for the cute little decorations on the suits, gentlemen, she's right. Nice movie rip off, but you're a bit late for Halloween."

At his words, Abby stood on tip-toe to peer over her protector's shoulder and noticed very small line of piping – a tiny twist of glittery red and white for one, blue and silver for the other – along the lapel and above the cuff line on the men's suit coats, so fine it took sharp eye to catch. _Only Tony would notice that_ , she thought, but emboldened by their less-than-serious suits and the fact that they had not yet forced their way inside, she decided to challenge them, too. "What do you want with Gibbs?"

"Abbs..." Tony warned, low. He had this, she knew, and she leaned back again and lowered herself back on her heels.

"So ... he is here," the older one said, still not moving.

Tony narrowed his eyes at the first, then looked at the second – then snorted. "Okay, _you_ do a passable Tommy Lee Jones," he said the first, "but nobody's gonna mistake you for Will Smith," he told the second. "You got _no_ charisma, no sizzle. Hell, you haven't even said anything and Smith woulda stolen the scene by now."

The older man's eyes flicked suddenly from Tony's face to just behind him, and the look in them shifted slightly. "Gibbs," he nodded, quietly.

Abby glanced back but Tony didn't need to; he thought he'd heard the stairs from inside, and the man's glance behind him confirmed it.

"Jones," Gibbs said in return.

Tony perked up, swiveling first to look at Gibbs, then back at the stranger in the doorway. "No! Not really. Really? He's really Jones?"

The younger man stranger spoke for the first time, almost showing a small smirk as he tipped his head as he introduced himself. "And Smith."

"No way. Not even on Christmas," Tony muttered as he stood slightly aside, allowing his boss to either come forward and speak to the men or invite them in. He was hoping for the former.

But Gibbs was all business, and his expression was as serious as those worn by the mystery men, "Something?"

"Maybe."

Gibbs wavered a moment but finally cocked his head sideways in invitation, leading the pair further inside and leaving Abby and Tony at the doorway. Not asked to join the others nor told to leave, the two looked at each other for a moment before Tony pulled the door shut, and they trailed the men into Gibbs' living room, Tony unwilling to leave Gibbs' six without back-up, and Abby unwilling to leave before she learned what was going on, or was kicked out for trying.

No one sat. 'Jones' pulled out a typed document a couple pages long and handed it to Gibbs, who looked it over, his frown darkening as he did. While Gibbs read, Jones looked to 'Smith' and gave him a nod, at which Smith pulled out what appeared to be an ultra-thin, good-sized phone that even their technoprobie would drool over. Without speaking, Smith poked at it a couple times and, when Gibbs surfaced from what he read, held his device up for Gibbs to see.

As Smith poked the 'phone' a few more times, showing Gibbs more of whatever he had on his screen, Tony leaned over to Abby and moaned, "great. A room full of Gibbses who communicate silently, and we don't have the pass code into their heads. No wonder they just let us stay without an argument."

"Not if you keep it up, DiNozzo," Gibbs growled under his breath. He looked again at the proffered phone then back to the paper in his hand for a moment, then looked up to Jones. His expression was still concerned, but less so, and now more his usual cranky demeanor saved for other alphabet agents. "Well, what do you want me to do? It's not exactly Navy or Marines. This too tough a case for you hot shot spooks with your super toys?"

Jones breathed out his frustration. "You know the extent of the fallout this one could have, Jethro. It needs to be investigated quickly, while it's still contained, and without screw-ups. This time of year we are spread particularly thin anyway, but I thought in the circumstances you _might_ want to help ..."

"Ya think?" Gibbs' patience was growing thin. "Ya gonna read me in or not?"

Jones hesitated, then glanced at the younger pair at the edge of the room, still hovering elbow to elbow, clearly still in the dark but watching intently and hoping for enlightenment. "From their performances, I take it that this is Ms. Scuito ... and Special Agent DiNozzo?"

"Why would they know us?" Abby worried under her breath to Tony.

Gibbs looked over to her, his expression softening slightly. "It's okay, Abby," he assured her. "They're federal agents, too. Just ... for a less public one."

"Which?" Tony was suddenly all business. He couldn't think of any legitimate agency that was more cowboy than NCIS, and the whole trick-or-treat aspect of this visit was making him nervous.

Not answering his agent, Gibbs instead turned to lock eyes with the older "agent," clearly someone he knew previously, and after a moment he snorted and turned to look at Tony. "Later," he said quietly, hoping his second would trust him for the time being. At the concern still on DiNozzo's face, he relented a bit more, reassuring him, too. "Need to know for now."

"How about we read all three of you in – with your permission, Gibbs – although Director Morrow already approved NCIS involvement, your lead, with whomever or whatever resources we need." When Gibbs just rolled his eyes without complaint, Tony's frown went even deeper, a look not missed by Jones. "We – and Gibbs – may need your help with this one, Agent DiNozzo. And yours, Ms. Scuito. A lot of threads to follow and not a lot of time."

"Boss," Tony tried, eyes still on Jones, warily, "you know ... McGee'll be back in a few hours, too. He's getting on a red eye later tonight. He'll be in at National at 0655."

Jones' expression clouded momentarily, and glanced briefly at Smith, who responded with a rapid few pokes at his magic phone. After a quick scan, Smith handed it to Jones, who looked it over as well. "He's still pretty new with you, Gibbs. Since these two have been with you as long as they have," he nodded to the two in front of them, "and are still putting up with you, that's good enough for me..."

"Well – that and your agency's background checks and all," Smith murmured, apparently unable to resist the moment, which earned him stony looks in stereo from Gibbs and Jones. Even in the circumstances, Smith's apparent resistance to the glares won him a moment of grudging respect from DiNozzo – almost enough to ease the disturbing familiarity Jones seemed to have not only with Gibbs, but even the newest member of his team.

"...but McGee," Jones was shaking his head, moving on past Smith's comment. "He's a probie, Jethro. He hasn't even been with you a year. And his father's a four star. You ready to vouch for him, given the stakes?"

Gibbs was keenly aware of the two pair of eyes watching him closely for his response, and for reasons wholly unrelated to the case – much too personal for this kind of work. Even so, he could say honestly: "I'll vouch for the fact that he's catching on a lot faster than most probies would be at this point, and he's light years ahead of all of us on anything computer. You leave him to us. We could probably use his help."

Jones considered for a moment, then nodded. At that, Gibbs said, "Tony, let McGee know we'll need him as soon as he gets in. Unless he has his car there, you can pick him up and get him up to speed on the way in – and get him some food if he needs it."

Tony nodded and asked, soberly, "so you're reading us in?"

"Not here," Jones murmured. "NCIS. You'll have to go back there to get started, anyway. And we need at least a secure location. Your SCIF would be even better."

"I suppose Director Morrow approved you for that, too."

"Full access, Jethro. And I did mention our need to move this along to get a lid on things before it multiplies?" Jones pressed.

Gibbs snorted, but said, "DiNozzo, you get Abby and Smith here to NCIS. I'll ride with Jones."

"Jethro, I'm touched," the other senior agent finally cracked the tiniest smile with Gibbs' acquiescence. "Or should I be insulted?"

"Just reminded that some of us know all about your 'clandestine service.'" Gibbs said dryly. "I need the whole story – the one you won't share in a group. Especially why you need us in on this investigation."

 _ **TBC...**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Gibbs gritted his teeth, managing not to try grabbing the keys from Jones as he might one of his team, and slid into the passenger seat. Without waiting for Jones to start up the engine, he cut to the chase. "How much does he know?"

"Just generalities. We checked the communications feed from his trip, and there was nothing at all to indicate any sort of incident, but we had to call him to ask – he wouldn't have had time to get back and dictate a full report. Good news, completely smooth sailing this time. Bad news – when we were done asking questions, he started in with some of his own."

Gibbs snorted. "I'm shocked," he said dryly.

"We just told him there'd been a report – obviously a faked attempt for attention or money or something – but we didn't give him any details, just told him to hit the rack and we'd let him know when we knew more. You know how he is about his record – he was ready to come down here and get involved. We finally got him to back down a bit when we told him that we'd get your help with the investigation, but he made me swear to tell you to not hurt anyone, or to start blowing things up." Gibbs snorted again, more softly. Jones went on, "He's not crazy about the idea of detention, even with us, but even if this was just a bad blackmail attempt, he understands that it's better than jail and will make the same point."

Gibbs sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face. "Just as long as he lays up a while, gets some rest. Christmas always takes it out of him."

"Don't let him hear you say that. Besides, he looks better than either of us do," Jones added, deadpan. They drove in silence for a few minutes, then asked, "when _did_ you see him last?"

Gibbs turned to look at the other agent and griped, "You're my mother now, too?"

"Just askin.'"

* * *

 _Thirty minutes later_.

With the streets comparatively empty in the waning hours of Christmas night, DiNozzo made good time, but wasn't surprised to see that Jones and Gibbs had made it there ahead of them. Charlie, at the security desk, gave them Gibbs' message to meet them in the Director's office, and as they passed on through security and into the elevator, Tony looked at the unusually quiet Abby. Dropping back a couple steps behind Smith, he put his hand on her arm to stop her and asked, "You okay, Abbs?"

"No," her voice quivered a little as she whispered back. "This is freaking me out, here, Tony. These ... _grim_ guys with peppermint piping on their suits, and some secret agency, and Gibbs clearly knows them and is getting us all involved in some super secret investigation at _Christmas_ , and he's not telling us anything ..."

Tony glanced up to see Smith stop and turn toward them, but to his credit, he didn't try coming back to eavesdrop. With a look at the agent approximating appreciation, Tony glanced back to Abby. Taking her by the shoulders to ground her, he reminded her, "that's why we're here – they're reading us in, so we can help. You know if it's anything you have a problem with, Gibbs won't force you..."

"Since when?" she retorted.

"Since this is clearly not an NCIS case," his voice urged her to calm. "Volunteers only for a volunteer mission – but if you want to help Gibbs, and to find out what all this cloak and dagger is about, you gotta maintain, Abby." He paused. "You know he would never ask you to do anything that would put you at risk."

"I know," she murmured, a bit chastened that Tony had to turn all older-brother-agent with her. He smiled to see her settling down, and turned her gently toward the elevator, where the still-silent Smith was waiting for them.

"And besides, she asked a bit guiltily, as Smith hit the call button at their approach. "What's gonna happen with the bowling tournament?"

The elevator door opened before he could answer, and Smith stood aside to let them both in ahead of him. Suddenly recognizing the move as one he used frequently as an agent, a subtle drop back to herd suspects the direction you want them to go, thereby avoiding anyone bolting, DiNozzo glared at Smith again, who just smiled the benign smile of someone already read in. DiNizzo growled a little in response before turning to Abby again.

"I'm still hoping for a win. Better call Sister Rosita and tell her the practice session will been to be postponed."

"Okay." When she went to dig out her phone, Smith spoke up, reaching out a tentative hand.

"No details, Ms. Scuito. Not even 'a case came up.'"

At her dumbfounded look, which changed to a renewed worry, Tony looked to the other and griped, "oh, nice job, Ace. She's calling a frigging _nun_ , for God's sake."

"Then let's not worry her too, or get her involved, shall we?" Cooly and evenly, Smith stood up to DiNozzo's ire. "Ms. Scuito, I'm sure you can come up with something ..."

"You want me to _lie_ – to a _nun_?" Her eyes went wide. "Who _are_ you people?"

He actually grinned and chuckled, and reassured her, "no need to lie. You could tell her ... you could tell her that Agent DiNozzo here was at the wrong place at the wrong time and ended up sticking his nose in where it didn't belong – the absolute truth."

"Not if you expect me to leave me out of the story," Abby murmured, low, but she straightened with her sudden sense of pride and protection for her agents and their willingness to go help these terrible men, "because I'm right there with him. And with Gibbs."

Tony shot Smith a smug look as he squeezed Abby's shoulder in support. Understanding he'd been put in his place, at least marginally, Smith tipped his head and, though with a smile, conceded as the doors opened, "no offense meant, Ms. Scuito. You just can't tell anyone that any of us are here, even that anyone is working on an investigation. It's sensitive. That's all."

Grudgingly, Abby shrugged and grumbed an "okay" as she passed him, leaving the elevator. Tony simply glared again, holding the look long enough to be sure the man understood that no one messed with Abby, before following her out toward the Director's office.

Smith sighed. He'd thought all the warnings Jones had given him about the surly Gibbs and his eccentric team were more apocryphal than anything. Turns out they were more literal than he'd expected.

Leaving the elevator to follow the agent and the scientist, Smith tried to look on the bright side. _At least they'll help move things along_ , he hoped, brushing his fingers along the nearly invisible piping of his suit with a bit of pride, no matter what Scuito said, _and we can leave them to their eccentricities._

He followed them into the entry and onto the Director's office, where Jones, Gibbs, and an impressively large vat of coffee awaited them.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Coffee distributed, the group sat around the Director's conference table, Jones at the head. "As Jethro implied, we are a small, very discreet agency which provides intelligence and security for a certain group of ... protectees, both foreign and domestic," he began. "Many of them need to remain hidden or anonymous for the public good, and their own safety." He looked at the two NCIS employees hearing this for the first time, and apologized, "I'm sorry that I can't be more specific than that, but Gibbs knows about us. I think he'll give us his seal of approval."

The room all turned to Gibbs, who took a moment to look both Abby and Tony in the eye, and leaned forward in his elbows to underscore his response. "Would I have come down here and bring these two – and brought you both with me – if I had any question about the situation?"

"No, Gibbs," Abby said immediately. Tony seemed skeptical.

"DiNozzo?" Gibbs pressed.

He fidgeted for a moment, uncomfortable, but dared to say, "if the stakes were high – if the situation was critical and someone important to you was at risk... yeah. You might," he admitted.

Jones' eyes flickered in appreciation of DiNozzo's insight, something he hadn't expected, if he were being honest – and his candor with his demanding boss. Gibbs met Tony's direct gaze for several moments, then broke the tension with the tiniest of nods – conceding the point. "Only you, DiNozzo," he smirked. "Wouldn't risk Abbs like that." Seeing that his agent understood – with a slight relaxing and coloring of his cheeks, Gibbs said, "to your point, Tony – hear them out. The critical parts of this are timing and 'political' fallout. Not the sort of thing you're worried about."

DiNozzo knew that Gibbs was good, and didn't for one moment think he could always catch his boss in a lie, but he'd worked for the man for four years now and he'd always been straight with him – sometimes _too_ straight and direct. He finally nodded, too. "I gotcha, Boss." To lighten the mood, he looked beside him and nudged Abby with his elbow. "I'm sticking with you, Abbs."

"As I was saying," Jones ground out, feeling the press of the passing hours. "We have a situation with one of our ... protectees," Jones began. "He's been accused of a hit and run accident, a fatality. From our initial investigation, no accident even occurred. It looks like it's a family who has colluded to accuse our client of causing the accident. We don't know why – money, or attention, or what – but the reason doesn't matter. If this is all a scam, we can't allow them to make their allegations public – the fallout would affect countless people, multiple countries. We need your help to confirm our findings."

"We do some crime investigation, but that's not primarily what we do." Smith added.

"Then what _do_ you do – _primarily_?" Tony asked sweetly.

"DiNozzo..." Gibbs rumbled in a low growl.

"Not homicide investigations," Jones stepped in. "Occasional fraud – many similar to what we think we have here. But the addition of possible wrongful death allegations here against someone of some international repute, while on U.S. soil, makes this one more appropriately handled by those of you who have done this long enough that you can get it done as it should be done."

"What, so you can send them to Gitmo? Or do you have one of those flashy-thingies to make them forget everything?" Tony laughed, looking to Abby for support. "Wait – are you going to use it on us, too?"

Gibbs recognized the very slight tone of hysteria creeping into DiNozzo's voice, and recognized his discomfort for what it was – he was still spinning his wheels trying to figure out what was going on with the two agents and the mysterious agency they represented. "Tony – it's all by the book," he interceded. "They're operating under national security guidelines and no one will not be detained without a conviction in a federal bench trial. The detention center makes camp cupcake look rugged, and it's just over the line in Maryland. You can go check it out if you want." He saw Jones react and asked, "what? I'm not going to ask my people to do something they think is unconstitutional. If he needs to see it, he sees it."

Jones rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, and sighed. "Why don't we just arrange a day trip, huh, Gibbs? Fill up a bus, sell tickets?" He looked to the senior agent. "Are you through?"

"Are you?" Gibbs shot back.

"No, and you're wasting time," Jones challenged him. "May I continue?" He looked from Gibbs to DiNozzo, seeing if they'd sorted themselves out. They had, and he continued.

"This shouldn't have gotten out of hand as it has, but we had a sort of perfect storm in this one. Metro got a report early this morning that a sixty eight year old woman, hypertensive, intoxicated and off her meds, set out on foot from her son's house for her house two blocks away. She never made it. She left at about seventeen hundred hours, just as the snow started – there was about a half inch accumulation in that area. Now, Christmas day and all, Metro was shorthanded, most of the senior guys off, and it's a fairly quiet, working class neighborhood, so they sent out a rookie to take a missing person report."

Jones broke off from his narrative, to huff out his breath in frustration, and turned to Gibbs to editorialize. "Man, these losers lucked out with the guy Metro sent them, Jethro. Most of the cops in town get an earful like what they told him, they'd've either carted the whole family off to the drunk tank, or taken them over to Saint E's for observation. But this kid starts taking his report to heart and ends up seeing aliens and fairies." He shook his head, and got back to his narrative.

"The adult son calls it in, said she started out from his house after dinner. Rookie shows up and is met at the door by an eight year old kid, who's bawling about his grandma being dead, outside in the snow. Son gets in on things, tells cop that they didn't know she never made it home, Grandpa never called – figures he thought she was staying the night with the kid, waiting for Santa to come. Son says that the next morning he goes out to shovel the walk, expecting Grandma to walk back since she left her car there, and they found her near the street, dead. Claims they called an ambulance for Grandma, to take her body to the morgue – but then when they called GW, where they thought she was taken, they'd never heard of her. Between the family and Metro, they checked everywhere in the district and Grandma's suddenly missing. But it just so happens," he drawled, "that the family took some snapshots of Grandma before her last ride, because of the strange marks on her face and back and all." Jones noted with some satisfaction that DiNozzo and Scuito both were becoming deeply skeptical. Gibbs was just pissed.

"So our rookie starts buying into the leap they set up, before they even finish laying it out for him – the kid claims that he heard sleigh bells about the same time; son points out the odd shape of the marks on her forehead, like she'd been hit a few times with a hard, split-oval weapon..."

"Or hit once by several?" Abby's eyes grew wide. "They have pictures of those marks?"

"Marks or _faked_ marks? Yeah, we do," Smith drawled, a light warning in his voice.

Abby straightened at the implication and fixed Smith with a glare worthy of Gibbs. "I am a scientist. I run tests. I do not jump to conclusions – _for or against_ – any theory."

"Great," Smith concluded, looking at Jones in exasperation. "A scientist who believes in Santa."

"Hey! I _said_..." she began.

"Abbs," Gibbs interceded firmly. "So the rookie writes up a report that says _Santa Claus_ is responsible for a hit and run vehicular homicide," he cut to the chase. "Any chance the rookie isn't that gullible, but was in on the scam? Maybe when he got there he figured out their plan and conned the cons into splitting their blackmail earnings?"

"Nah, our guys who talked to him actually think he's a true believer – probably still puts out cookies and milk for the old guy." Smith helped.

Gibbs chewed on that for a moment, then looked back up to Jones. "Okay, so who's doing what, and what do you want us to do?"

"Well, we do seem to have lost Grandma amid all the Santa stuff."

"Lost her? Body or person?"

"Only confirmation of a 'body' is the family, but she's been missing about twenty four hours now. Now if _they_ killed her, that's a lot more up your alley than ours. So is interviewing witnesses and suspects in a homicide, and your read on all this will be better than ours. Maybe Ms. Scuito can make something of the photos. If you can get the investigation done and cleared, for the accident or the missing grandma – or even better, both – either we or Metro can pick up them up, based on your results. I'm just not crazy about the idea of Metro doing all the questioning."

"So ... you're telling us that we're investigating whether or not there's any truth to the allegations that _Santa_ was a hit and run? Or are we investigating the cop's making a formal report of it, without a body, going only on a crying kid and some faked photos?" DiNozzo asked, feeling some disbelief with either version.

"Photos that the family wants to sell to the tabloids because Metro hasn't found Granny, yeah. And hasn't arrested Santa yet." Jones barked back. "So far we have them holding off, with the active investigation going on, but who knows how long we can keep that going. Time is not our friend on this one."

"So was there even an accident at all, or was it all staged?" Tony asked.

"Well, that's your call, too, but to our investigators it looked like a complete concoction – although if you can get them to tell you how they faked the hoof prints, I'd appreciate it – they're pretty realistic looking. We don't have the forensic capabilities Ms. Scuito has, and I'm hoping, Ms. Scuito, that you can take a quick look and tell us one way or another if they've been faked."

"What about Ducky, looking at the 'body?'" she asked, looking more to Gibbs than Jones. "He might be able to tell if that was faked, too."

Smith looked at Jones and warned, "we're already up to Gibbs plus two, and a third coming in. Not a fourth?" he pleaded with Jones. Immediately, though, he turned to fix Tony with a leer, "unless you're letting me get out the ol' 'flashy-thingie' again."

"Can it, kid," Jones straightened and looked at his partner. "Flies with honey."

"So how have _you_ approached the family?" Gibbs spoke up again. "Other than Metro buying into their story, any of your people go in and ramp them all up by grilling them about it, so that one of them gets the bright idea that the 'whole merry old elf and his reindeer' thing could actually be real?"

"We _have_ been at this job a while too, Jethro – so, no." Jones grunted. "We've kept an eye on them covertly so we know where everyone is, but if you were going to take this case, we wanted you and your people to be the first to go in, not make it a parade of different officers or agencies."

"Okay." Gibbs sat back. "I'm in." He looked at Tony and Abby. "Only if you're comfortable with this."

Abby nodded readily, her allegiance to Gibbs unqualified. Tony did too, ready to have Gibbs' six no matter what was up, but burning in curiosity with the unspoken question. "Comfortable, Boss – but do we get to know who the client is?"

Abby looked slightly puzzled; the other men shared a look. "Need to know, DiNozzo," Jones finally said. "Sorry. He's one of the good guys, though."

Tony chewed on that a minute, then turned to Gibbs. "They tell you, Boss?"

"Yup," Gibbs said evenly. "He _is_ one of the good guys, DiNozzo."

Tony nodded with that. "Okay."

"Abby, go ahead and take Agents Smith and Jones down to wake up your babies – we'll get the photos, Metro's file, all that to you to get started. We'll be down in a minute for the briefing. DiNozzo – "

Tony hung back as the others followed Abby to her lab.

"Look," Gibbs said to his second in command once they were alone, "once we get all the details they have, you dig in on the family members' information until you need to go get a few hours sleep – we can't interview anyone anyway until a decent hour, or they'll know something's up. Go pick up McGee when his plane gets in and brief him on the investigation. But," he cautioned, "you soft pedal the whole Santa thing, alright? Need to know." He paused, then admitted, "I have the feeling McGee is still one of those guys who wants to believe."

"Yeah," Tony nodded sagely, appreciating the confidence Gibbs was showing in having this discussion with him. "Speaking of which – you saw how Abby took the information, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but we need her on the photo analysis. Maybe her _and_ McGee. And like she said, she's a scientist – we'll just say she's not ruling anything out yet." At DiNozzo's surprised reaction, Gibbs assured him, "I'll keep an eye on her."

"So you think we need McGee, too," Tony probed, wondering what else Gibbs thought of the whole thing, "since you're kinda worried about his reaction."

"He can do a more thorough records check than Metro or these guys did, and faster than any of us could, to confirm that there's no one outside of the family who may have put them up to this. Someone who might have been looking for a cut, or who might have given them the idea. Maybe someone with enough inside information that Jones or Smith will want to follow up." Gibbs said with certainty. "Besides... I think I'll take him out on one of the interviews – see how he handles it."

"You think he'll get sidetracked that they've accused _Santa Claus_ of murdering Grandma? Who, McGee?" Tony asked sarcastically.

"It'll be a good test for him. Who knows when we'll run into allegations involving admirals or senators or some rock & roll star who might throw him off his game. 'Cos _you're_ handling this all so normally, DiNozzo."

"Hey, _I'm_ not the one wearing a tin foil hat in this story," Tony protested, "or an FBI suit with peppermint candy trim."

"You're my rock, DiNozzo," Gibbs smirked, getting up to move toward the door.

As Tony followed his boss, he was thoughtful for another few moments before breaking out into a big grin. "Right," he nodded again, then snorted a soft, conspiratorial laugh. "'Cos, really, Boss? I mean, _Santa?_ " He chucked again. "I guess some people just aren't ready for adulthood when it comes knocking."

"Yeah?" Gibbs smirked at his second and got up to move toward the door, tipping his head for Tony to follow him. "And how's that whole adulthood thing workin' out for _you_ , DiNozzo?"


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry for the delay, but RL Mother Nature did massive damage in our community last week. As compared to those who lost everything, we were relatively unscathed and incredibly lucky, but have been without power and internet, and are still catching up. Will get back here as I can.

Chapter 4

Gibbs had just swung through the bullpen again to McGee's announcement that his computers were able to search on their own for a while. As he leaned over to grab his gun and badge, his cell phone rang. The screen showed him it was DiNozzo. He frowned at it as he answered.

"Something wrong, DiNozzo?" His SFA and Smith had left only forty minutes before, and Gibbs figured he wouldn't hear from them for at least a couple hours. He started toward the elevator as he talked, gesturing for McGee to follow him. The younger agent scrambled to keep up with Gibbs as he stepped into the opening elevator doors. "

"Well, nothing, really, except that Grandpa took one look at us and decided to make a run for it," Tony began. "Trouble is, he's a good sixty pounds overweight, and had put away a twelve pack watching delayed feed Christmas football for the last couple hours or so. So it wasn't so much a run for it as a trip over his feet and splat for it. We're gonna take him in for questioning," DiNozzo's voice lowered a bit, "mainly because he seems to expect it. It seems pretty clear that he's in on things, whatever 'things' may be, because he's oozing the odor of guilty conscience about as strongly as he's oozing the odor of stale beer. And Smith's guys have an eye on the place – cousin Mel is here and has already been spilling his guts. Whatdya think, Boss? Stay with Mel or take Grandpa in?"

"Mel's been drinking too?"

"Um-hmm. And watching football. He's not as bad off as Grandpa, but I wouldn't start an official interrogation yet."

"McGee and I are on our way." His words coincided with their elevator opening to the ground floor. "You and Smith stick with Grandpa. Are you taking him to Metro or to Smith's place?"

"Since we don't know enough about what's up yet, we're taking him to Smith's holding cell and interrogation room." He dropped his voice even lower, "they've got a whole 'Mission Impossible" set up, Boss – the classic TV show, not the movies; they've got it set up so the guy will assume he's at Metro's holding facility. If they end up sending him through Metro, he'll never know the difference; if they decide on federal charges, it's more easily explained that the feds are taking jurisdiction that vice versa."

DiNozzo was sounding too enthusiastic about the situation. "You're still taking lead on the interrogation?"

"Oh - yeah." Tony paused, "they have someone available to monitor his blood alcohol content. I think he's more smelly than intoxicated, but we'll make sure he's sober before we take his statement. Hey, Boss," Tony added, "did you know that Smith was a LEO before he was a fed? Jones too, I think."

"He's gonna let you in to see their facilities, DiNozzo?" Gibbs and McGee reached their assigned car and Gibbs got behind the wheel, glancing over at McGee, who seemed to be keeping up, even though he clearly was fighting the vertigo of not knowing exactly who or what or why they were investigating. At least he got 'A' for effort.

"Yeah, some, I think," Tony whispered gleefully. "And I'm not leaving there until I find out what's up with those candy pinstripes. We'll call you as soon as we get a statement. Need anything else, Boss?"

"Nope. Abby's cleared everyone else other than Grandma, Grandpa, and Mel. I'll talk to the grandson but he's only eight; he was either following the adults' lead or they lied to him. Or both."

"Any sign of actual foul play against Grandma? Or any sign of Grandma herself?"

"Not yet. See what Grandpa can tell you – the usual, DiNozzo."

"That 'the husband did it?' On it, Boss."

Gibbs could hear the grin as DiNozzo hung up. He flipped his phone closed, his worry about the case easing as all the evidence was falling into place in support of Jones' theory that this was just an inept scam, and stepped on the gas. "Well, McGee – let's see what cousin Mel has to say for himself."

 _TBC..._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Tim sat down across the kitchen table from Mel, who was noisily slurping down a third cup of coffee to help get him past the morning's beer. "You said you could tell us what it was all about, this accident they reported."

"It all started at Christmas dinner," Mel began, mournfully. "Grandpa's brother Bobby was there. He comes to dinner when he's out, but he spends more time in the county jail than out – just small stuff, but it adds up, ya know? Anyway, when he comes to Christmas dinner, usually there's more drinking all around, and almost always ol' Bobby got 'im a story or new some hare-brained scheme he got from some of the other boys locked up. He never can get it through his thick skull that if the guy is locked up, there's probably some big hole in the damn plan, ya know?" Mel sighed, as if far too used to dealing with the fallout of Bobby's ideas. "So we was all talkin' and drinkin' and eatin' and drinkin' some more, and the talk came around to Grandpa gettin' laid off and how money was gettin' real tight – and then Bobby starts talkin' about this lawyer they all knew in lockup, and how he'd just gotten some inside info about some foolproof way to file a lawsuit and get a quick settlement – big one, too ...

"Foolproof," Gibbs murmured, wryly, from the corner of the kitchen where he stood.

The man fixed Gibbs with a shrewd look. "See? But _they_ never get it..." he sighed.

Tim worked to get the man back on track. "What was the lawsuit plan he brought up?"

"It's all about _who_ you sue, but not just that they have the money, he said – like, if they're a big celebrity, or don't want the bad publicity, they'll just pay you to settle, just like that, and this lawyer – he'd got wind of a whole secret agency who protects all these off-the-grid people that the government doesn't want you to know exist."

 _Like aliens?_ Tim could just imagine what Tony and his movie references would make of this. He managed not to roll his eyes, but did steal a glance at his boss, expecting to see him ever so subtly put this one in the "nutjob" category – but instead, what he saw caused him to do a double take. Gibbs, expression hardened into neutral, was watching and listening to the man with all his attention: rather than the story striking him as just another of the countless crazy conspiracy theories floating around, leveled at the government, something in what Mel said had clearly clicked with him.

Mel, oblivious to the sudden interest, was getting on with events. "So one thing led to another, and they hatched this plan, like." He sighed. "But it ain't right. I don't like lyin' to the boy, y'know? Not only making him think his gramma was dead, but ... you know."

Tim didn't, not yet. "No – what did they tell him, other than his grandmother died?"

"Well, that it was Santa Claus's fault." The man shook his head, missing Tim's stunned surprise. "But they decided it would be a lot more believable, you know, if a kid was all upset that his gramma was dead. They figured they'd all make it up to him later with a new bike or somethin.'"

Tim tried to swallow his surprise as he looked at Gibbs, dreading that he already knew what he would see on the older man's face – not derision or sarcasm that this family decided to phony up a story about a hit and run by an imaginary character, but that the family had inadvertently stumbled on what might be an actual government coverup, thereby actually legitimizing the "crazy" conspiracy theory. To his surprise, he found himself wishing it was Tony there instead, who would immediately get the movie reference. "Boss," he whispered. " _Men in Black?_ "

Gibbs didn't meet McGee's eyes, but cooly looked back to their witness. "Will you excuse us just for a moment, Mr. Trigg? We'd like to take another look at the street. Agent McGee?" He jerked his head out toward the front porch.

McGee kept his wits about him while they went outside, and he followed Gibbs out toward the street where the "body" was allegedly found. Normally, Tim would wait until Gibbs spoke first, but at seeing the Boss's expression inside at the mention of Santa Claus, it was like all the pieces fell into place for him.

 _All the insane, nonsensical, impossible, unbelievable pieces ..._

"Boss – that isn't what all this is about, really, is it?" By the time McGee had made it back to the District, the agents who had sought their help had left NCIS, and no one had been able to give him a straight answer about who they were. Yet both Tony and Abby had given him a really odd, unreal sort of vibe, and now Tim felt like he was in a science fiction nightmare – or a really bad Christmas fantasy movie. "You don't think ... I mean, whatever happened, it wasn't ... And the agents you guys were working with before I got back, the one Tony's with..." He watched his Boss's face as he sputtered his disbelief. Gibbs was uncharacteristically patient on this one. For once, Tim would have preferred to have been interrupted with a sarcastic, "ya _think_ , McGee?" just as he was warming up.

 _No. No, no, no, this wasn't happening; Gibbs did not believe in Santa Claus! Hell, he probably didn't even believe in conspiracy theories! But one about... about ..._

"McGee," Gibbs said cooly, "let's just get the rest of his statement and be on our way. Just ... treat it as any fraud case we might investigate. The guy is alleging that members of his family are faking an accident and a resulting death to make a buck. You focus on that as what's important here."

McGee would wonder later if he really _did_ fix Gibbs with a look of utter flabbergastedness before the man turned to go back in the house. He was pretty sure he had, but the fact that Gibbs just ignored it – in an almost kindly way, for Gibbs – made him wonder for his sanity.

 _Am I dreaming, or did I just lose my mind?_

His dilemma was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone.

"Tony!" He answered, like the call was his lifeline to sanity. "You won't believe ..."

"Later, McGee – tell Gibbs that Abby found the victim. As in, _found_ her – and is keeping an eye on her until we get there. Sending Abby's directions now..."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: the penultimate chapter - just this and an epilogue ahead.

To those of you who have given this a try, thanks; to those who reviewed, my appreciation. I really had fun with this one, and am sorry it didn't interest more readers. Maybe since it's not TIVA it didn't catch many people's attention, but it was written with my SESA recipient's requests and favorites in mind. This story would never have come to mind if I wasn't doing all I could to fulfill Akaeve's requests, and to get away from my usual TIVA-leanings to write something more for her tastes. Because of that, the story was as much a gift for me as for her.

* * *

Chapter 6

Abby asked to relieve the woman at the bread table, because it gave her a clear view of the room. Tony had made her swear not to approach "Grandma," but she was not going to let the woman get away. Not after the Christmas goose chase on which she had just led everyone for the last 24 hours.

It was a coincidence that even Gibbs would have to acknowledge. Abby had spent most of the night and part of the morning going through the evidence Jones and Smith had brought her. She threw out the photos pretty quickly, but less as photo-shopped and more as a poor effort to create evidence where none existed. She was pretty confident that Ducky could also testify to her findings, if they needed a forensic examiner, but she could show on high resolution magnification that the discoloration of the marks on Grandma's forehead – "hoofmarks" – were a surface color medium and not bruising, especially because there was no swelling or indentation in the area of alleged contact. Furthermore, the discoloration was not only placed incorrectly, but was not the color of fresh bruising. And that didn't even reach the couple photos in which it looked as if Grandma's eye was caught mid-twitch. _Or_ the weird marks on her clothing someone had tried to call "Claus marks." Could it be that they meant "claws" and just didn't know the difference? Or thought that reindeer actually had _claws?_

Once she'd debunked their "photographic evidence" – as in, the only evidence of an accident, foul play or homicide other than the family's claims – Abby's work was more tedious, and offered more for confirmation than for identifying new evidence. When she finally stumbled out of her lab, exhausted, she found Gibbs and McGee gearing up to go take a statement. Gibbs ordered her to go home with his thanks and a kiss on her forehead, but Abby needed to make a stop first. She wanted to personally apologize to Sister Rosita not only for missing their practice the night before, but for having to bail on the soup kitchen today. As it was, it would probably still be lunchtime, and she might help out an hour or so to relax.

But when she got to the mission, and made the rounds to say hello to the sisters and volunteers and regulars, she saw a new face she'd never seen there before –

... _who had graced all the screens in her lab over the past twelve hours in high-to-the-sky definition_...

Abby made a beeline over to the shelter's director, slowing down for the last several feet, hoping for a casual air. After making a maddening few moments of small talk – normally something she loved doing here but at the moment, not in the least – she tried, as off-handedly as she could manage, "hey – who's the woman in the red sweater, over there by Mrs. Ford? I don't think I've seen her before."

"Oh – Mrs. Trigg?" the woman asked.

Abby's mind reeled. _She didn't even use a fake name!_ she huffed mentally. "Oh – yes," she nodded.

"Poor woman. She was kicked out of her home by her husband on Christmas night. She was wandering the streets all night and managed to find her way here Christmas morning."

 _All night_ , Abby fumed. _Other than when she went back for her make-up session and photo shoot..._ "Is she staying in the shelter?"

"Yes, for the time being. The longer term women's dorm at the mission is full. But she says she's content here. She seems to like it just fine."

 _I bet she does_ , Abby growled inwardly. "You do such good work here," Abby said in all honesty to the Director. "Merry Christmas, Mrs. Green."

"Merry Christmas, Abby," the woman replied. Abby moved off slowly, keeping her eye on her target, to pop around the corner and dial Gibbs. It rolled to voice mail immediately, a sure sign he was hip deep in an interview. She dialed Tony next.

"Hey, Abb..." He barely got out before Abby blurted,

"Tony! She's here! 'Grandma' is here, at the mission!"

"What? Abs, are you sure?"

"What do you mean, am I sure? I stared at that face all night, Tony, of _course_ I'm sure."

"On my way, Abs – you _do not_ approach her, you hear me? Did you call Gibbs?"

"Tried, but it rolled over right away."

"I'll call McGee – they're together. You send us the location, Abby, and you get out of there."

"No way! The people here have no idea who she is; if she's a threat, they may need someone to ... I don't know, to help. Besides, Tony, she's almost seventy years old and she seems quite happy with her bowl of soup and sandwich right now..."

"You don't approach her, Abby. Just ... wait. Got it?"

"Got it."

"And call if there's a change."

" _Got_ it." She hung up and hung back, watching the woman who relaxed and ate as if she didn't have a care in the world. After about forty five seconds of just watching from the back, though, Abby became bored, and decided to get a better view. The table at the end of the food line would let her see not only Grandma, but the whole room. Once decided, she marched up and offered to stand in for the volunteer at the end of the line, cutting the freshly made bread. Abby worked there often enough to know the drill and, truth be told, it didn't hurt to have a weapon in her hand. Just in case.

Gibbs and McGee pulled up at the same time DiNozzo did. "Smith's finishing up Grandpa's processing," Tony said as the three walked up to the entrance quickly. "Looks like Grandpa was the brains of the outfit – and I use the term advisedly."

Gibbs nodded, and pointed around to the back. "Tim, there's a delivery entrance into the kitchen off the alley – should be open. You can come in that way. Tony, behind me five yards or so. Don't draw your weapons unless absolutely necessary. We have no reason to think she's armed." With that, Gibbs walked in and immediately caught Abby's eye, who bounced a little, put down her knife and the bread, and quickly signed to Gibbs where Grandma was sitting and what she was wearing.

Gibbs looked over and, finding the woman still happily eating her soup and chatting with her new-found friends, smirked and turned back to DiNozzo, gesturing that he needn't follow too closely. Taking his time, Gibbs wound his way through the bench seats to come up to the woman's side. "Mrs. Trigg?" he asked politely. "Jethro Gibbs, ma'am. Could I have a word with you, please?"

"What a nice young man," one of the regulars smiled up at him.

"He knows you, Mary?" another asked.

"I ... don't think so," she smiled up from her soup and, not seeing one of the social workers who usually graced the place, but someone who looked more cop than case worker, and she paled. "I ... uh ... I think you have confused me with someone else." She looked down as if figuring out how to hide in that soup.

"No, dear, that's your name – Mary Trigg," a third, used to the confusion some of the shelter residents suffered, said helpfully.

"Your family is concerned about you, ma'am," Gibbs pressed a bit. "We talked to all of 'em. They'll all be glad to see you're just fine – especially your _grandson_ ," he added.

At that, Mary's eyes filled with tears and she let out a soft wail. "I didn't want to lie to him, but they said it was the only way..."

Gibbs took her upper arm firmly, still exuding a respectful demeanor. "Let's go have a talk about that, shall we?" He exerted just enough pressure, in just the right way, so she was rising from her seat whether she wanted to or not. He looked at the others seated at her table. "Merry Christmas, ladies."

"Merry Christmas," the table chorused, as Gibbs led a now blubbering Mary Trigg out toward the front where DiNozzo stood. Catching the eye of McGee, also standing by, he tipped his chin toward his youngest agent and winked at him for a job well done. Turning to nod to Abby, he signed, one handed, "come on back to NCIS. Lunch in one hour – pizza. On me."

She grinned and nodded, waving at Tony and Tim, who trailed Gibbs out of the mission.

Marching Mary out toward their cars, Gibbs saw Jones and Smith just as they were pulling up in their all-black, shiny SUV. The agents each got out – and Timothy McGee, taking his first look at the pair for whom they'd been working, stopped dead in his tracks as his jaw dropped at least a foot. "I don't believe it," he managed. Tony came up beside him and clapped him on the shoulder.

"C'mon, Probie. I'd say we'll explain it all when we get back, but we won't. Hell, I don't know even half of what went on, and I don't know how much Gibbs really knows – but I think we just helped avert a crisis."

"But they..." McGee managed.

"Yeah, I know. And I got to see only a little bit of their place, but they've got _way_ cool toys, and I _know_ they didn't show me anything they thought was worth seeing."

"Tony," McGee stopped him. "So there are really ... Men in Black? You know, like the movie, like with aliens everywhere?"

"Nah. Don't think they're aliens. But you know... that might explain how Gibbs knows all, sees all..." He grinned, and walked his probie up to the impressive SUV, where Gibbs was helping Jones load Mary in the back. Smith stood at his open door, with a languid smile.

"McGee – Smith." Tony made the introductions. "Smith – McGee."

Smith leaned over easily to shake Tim's hand. "Thanks for your help, Agent McGee. We hear good things about you." At Tony's proud grin, Smith turned to the older agent and offered his hand. "Agent DiNozzo, thank you too. You're alright – not nearly the horse's ass our intel reports make you out to be," he grinned.

"Ah, yeah, see? You're coming along." Tony grinned. "You may even catch up to Will Smith if you work a bit on the charm."

"I'll remember that." Smith paused for a moment, and tipped his chin at them both. "Look – if either of you decide you want to make a change, want some pretty impressive hardware to play with and some fine black suits – give me a call. I can put in a word." He handed them each a business card as and nodded now with a quieter smile. "Seriously – thank you both."

He got in the SUV and the partners stepped back, ready to clear the way. Tim looked down at the card and gulped, looking back up at the SUV in wonder then back down again. "Tony..." he said slowly.

DiNozzo looked over and saw the probie staring at the business card, so looked at the one in his hand. At first glance it was plain, devoid of any markings at all, but as he looked at it, tipping it back until he held it nearly parallel to the ground, a holographic image seemed to float up to and off the surface, coming to bob several inches in the air in front of him, stating, simply, "Smith" with a phone number floating underneath – and a 202 area code. "Wow," he murmured, impressed all over again.

"Gibbs," Jones shut the door on his passenger on the other side of the vehicle, and turned to look at the NCIS agent. "I'll give you a call when we get everything completed, but from what you were able to send over, I think we have it all wrapped up." Jones held out a hand and Gibbs took it. "Pleasure working with you again, Gunny. Thank you for your help, and the use of your team. They're good."

"I know," he grinned. "Thanks for letting us help. And for letting DiNozzo take a peek. He probably won't let it go for quite a while – or until he figures it all out," Gibbs chuckled.

"Better watch out, Jethro. I think we'd steal any one of them who wanted to come work for us."

"Then you wait until I retire – and I'm not planning to do that any time soon." He sobered, and looked back at Jones. "Thanks for handling this one personally, Jones. It means a lot."

"You take care of that team of yours, Gibbs. And thank Ms. Scuito for us, too."

Gibbs just nodded as the agent climbed into his SUV. As they pulled out, the senior agent turned to the others. "I told Abby I'd have pizza in the conference room for everyone in an hour. You guys in?"

"You bet, Boss!" Tony grinned.

"Our reports, Boss?" McGee asked.

"No reports on this one." He jerked his head back toward the SUV, disappearing down the road. "They'll take care of them." As the two younger agents walked back to their sedan, Gibbs finally relaxed a bit, a small smirk gracing his features as he felt a bit of pride at his team. _Three of his people allowed a peek into the ultra-secret, ultra-classified agency and its mission, and Jones' "flashy-thingie" had not been threatened even once, for any of them._ In the next moment, though, as Tony yanked Tim by the back of his coat to swing him nearly 90 degrees off his path just before he stepped in a rather deep pothole, unnoticed as a result of his renewed, close examination of Smith's card, Gibbs' pride was punctured at the suspicion that Jones had decided they needn't waste the energy.

* * *

 _An hour and fifteen minutes later._

It didn't take long for the questions to come. Gibbs knew they would, and wasn't exactly sure how he woild handle them. He just hoped for the best and braced himself when he heard Tony start in.

"So, Boss," he began. "You knew that Jones guy before."

"Yup."

"From ... another case?"

"From the Marines, first. He was another MP. Didn't know him well, but our paths crossed."

Tony nodded, wanting to sidle up to the pay off questions slowly. "It kinda sucks, though, when we don't get to see the case through, and see if they get a confession or convictions, or if there was any part of what _anybody_ said that made any sense..."

"So that's this super-secret agency they work for?" Abby jumped in, bluntly.

"Need to know, Abs," he said kindly but firmly. "And before you ask, any of you – I don't know that much about them, really, but I can't tell you anything I do know, other than their main mission is as a protective service – for their protectees, and for the rest of us. I trust 'em, and I'm glad you were able to help them. You all did good work out there over the last several hours."

His rare compliment hung in the air for several moments, appreciated by all of them, until the question that had plagued McGee since the interview finally got to him. "Boss," he began. "Was this all really about ... _Santa Claus?_ "

"That's what they said, McGee. Since there was no accident – does it matter?"

"Yes!" All three of his team cried, and Gibbs knew he'd played that one wrong.

"Look, if they make up an accident, they make up who was involved, too ..."

"But Santa Claus? What do they know that we don't know?" Tony asked.

Tim glanced at Gibbs then said to the others, "Mel said that someone told Grandpa's brother there's a super-secret agency to protect all the people out there that the government doesn't want you to know exist."

"So they _are_ the Men in Black?" Abby gasped. "Tony, you were right!"

"But what I don't get is why they wouldn't want anyone to know there's a Santa Claus," Tony shook his head. "That doesn't make sense."

"Well – people who win the lottery suddenly have people showing up at their door, wanting a handout," Tim reasoned. "Maybe it's like that. I mean – _everyone_ would want Santa to get them everything, wouldn't they?"

Gibbs let the speculation flow over him, grateful that his team knew him to be taciturn – his silence wouldn't be suspect. They'd all chatter about it a while, and their speculation would get a little wilder, they'd get it out of their systems, and this would all fade into memory. _So far, so good._

Well worth the price of a few pizzas.

* * *

 _Epilogue to follow._


	7. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

 _Ten days later_

Kate came off the elevator to look around at the bullpen she had actually missed – at least a little – while she was back for a Midwest Christmas, visiting family. Tim was at his computer, working diligently on something, but Gibbs and DiNozzo weren't at their desks.

"Hey, Kate," McGee smiled warmly at her. "Welcome back. Did you have a good trip?"

"It was great," she nodded. "How 'bout you?"

Tim nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah. Lots of flying for a short break, though."

Kate's eyes narrowed, and she ignored the bing of the elevator behind her to come closer to her teammate, scrutinizing him. "Why short? Were you called in?"

"Well, not exac..." He was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a small, elderly man at Kate's elbow. The man's twinkling blue eyes and snowy white hair looked rather familiar, for some reason, but Tim couldn't place him. He noted that the man had the obligatory NCIS visitor badge, indicating he'd been to security, but the usual name and department information added to the badge was blank. McGee's newly developing gut twinged slightly. "May I help you?" he asked politely.

"Well, son, I was looking for Special Agent Gibbs."

"He'll be back in just a few minutes ..."

"Don't tell me," the man grinned conspiratorially. "Refill?" When the younger man seemed a bit confused by the reference, he prompted, "coffee run?"

"Oh – yes, sir," Tim relaxed a bit, with a smile, both because the man was just so charming and kindly, and because he saw Tony approaching them as well. Still learning his way as far as what was expected of him when Gibbs wasn't there to tell him what that was, Tim was happy to defer to the senior agent's experience with newcomers showing up in the bullpen. Before Tony could say anything, though, another familiar voice came their way.

"Why am I not surprised?"

Tim and Kate looked past Tony, who turned back to look behind him, and all three saw Jones coming around into the bullpen with a decidedly Gibbsian stride, smiling ruefully at the elderly visitor. Walking up to him, without acknowledging the others, Jones said, almost chidingly, "I thought you were going to wait until _after_ the debriefing."

The old man shrugged. "Well, that seemed to be an awful waste of time. I've never been too good at just standing around. And since I was here anyway..." he reasoned, "I thought I'd just take a look around."

"I'm sorry," Tony began, looking at the man closely. "Have we met? You look really familiar."

"It's been a while, but yes, Tony," the man's eyes twinkled. "We've met."

"But I haven't met your other teammate," Jones interrupted uncharacteristically, abruptly inserting himself into the coversation physically by easing over in front of Kate, effectively putting himself between the team and their visitor.

Tony narrowed his eyes at Jones, the agent's odd manner making him suspicious, but he nodded and said, "no, you haven't. Agent Jones – this is Agent Todd, who was back visiting family when you were here last. Kate, Agent Jones."

"From...?" Kate asked – and Tony turned to look at Jones, eyebrow raised, waiting. Tim's eyes were glued on Jones too, and the room seemed to hush. In the moment, no one registered the elevator's 'bing' behind them.

After another moment passed in silence, the elderly man chuckled, "well, Jones? Cat got your tongue?"

Gibbs materialized at the old man's shoulder, and leaned over slightly to drawl in the man's ear, "do we really want to start telling everyone's secrets?"

The man did not seem the least bit surprised to see him, but he did seem pleased at his arrival, regardless of his little poke. "Leroy," the man smiled benignly.

Gibbs spared him a glance and a small grin, but looked back up to Jones. "You two have business here you failed to mention?"

No one seemed to notice as Tim and Tony immediately locked glances, and Tony mouthed, _'Leroy?_ '

"It was spur of the moment," the elderly man smiled benignly.

Jones turned to him to complain, "and how it happened, no one seems to be able to tell me, but the debriefing we had set for this morning was magically rescheduled to be held _here_ – emphasis on 'magically,'" Jones added under his breath.

"I just wanted to have a chance to thank these agents myself for their help. I understand you all helped prevent a pretty serious breach of confidence from occurring," he said, still kindly, but with a focus and earnestness that was missing in his earlier demeanor. "It is very much appreciated."

"Jack..." Jones warned.

"They were read in enough to help me, they're read in enough to accept my thanks. It's your fault, anyway, Jones," he laughed, a warm, jolly sound. "You're the one who called Leroy for help." He turned his clear blue eyes upon Gibbs, who met his gaze, the older man clearly expecting something from the agent. Finally, with a smirk, Gibbs shook his head and nodded toward the others.

"Jackson Gibbs, I believe you know the team – Anthony DiNozzo, Kate Todd, and Timothy McGee. Agents DiNozzo, Todd, and McGee, meet Jackson Gibbs – my father."

They were all stunned, of course, but the tumblers were falling in Tony's head so fast that he paled, and said, in an awed voice, "but you ..." He stopped, then started again, " _that's_ how I know you?"

At that, the elder Gibbs nodded, his expression taking on a sadder expression. "And I'm sorry it took me a while to make good on my promise, son. But getting a ten year old boy the family he needs takes time." The others stared at Tony, who was absolutely gobsmacked at the man's words – and the story behind them that _no_ one else in the world knew. "Still, I knew just the family you deserved – and who deserved you. It just took you – and the others – a little time to get here, all together in one place." He winked at Tony, who sat heavily on the corner of his desk, shocked in to silence.

Jones cleared his throat. "Uh, Jack ... we actually _do_ have a debriefing to get to," he urged his protectee gently.

Tim stood his ground, however, and managed to ask Jackson, "then ... you really _do_ exist? You _are_ real?"

"As real as you are, Tim," the elderly gentleman chuckled. "Want a pinch?"

But McGee's thoughts had caught up to DiNozzo's, and he asked, "and ... you're Gibbs father, too?"

Father and son shared a look, until finally the younger Gibbs rolled his eyes ruefully and shrugged, letting his father continue. Jackson Gibbs nodded and said, "indeed I am."

Tony, who had been taking it all in, his amazement still complete, finally jumped up from his seat on the desk corner to say aloud what all of them had been trying to get through their heads: "Gibbs' father ... is Santa Claus!"

The team stood dumbfounded, blinking at each other almost comically as they worked through the idea, now given voice. Jones walked back toward Jackson and gestured silently toward the elevator, and Jackson made to leave. However, after stepping past Tony, he stopped, turned, and with a wry smile, came back to lean in to the group, conspiratorially, "think about it – how else do you think he could get those boats out of his basement?"

 _ **Lyrics to Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer**_

Originally performed by the husband and wife, Elmo and Patsy Trigg, Shropshire, in 1979. By the early 1980s, the song was becoming a seasonal hit, first on country stations and then on Top 40 stations.

Grandma got run over by a reindeer

Walking home from our house Christmas eve

You can say there's no such thing as Santa,

But as for me and grandpa we believe

She'd been drinking too much eggnog,

And we begged her not to go

But she forgot her medication

and she staggered out the door into the snow

When we found her Christmas morning,

At the scene of the attack,

She had hoof-prints on her forehead,

And incriminating Claus marks on her back

Grandma got run over by a reindeer

Walking home from our house Christmas eve

You can say there's no such thing as Santa

But as for me and grandpa we believe

Now we're all so proud of grandpa,

He's been taking this so well

See him in there watching football,

Drinking beer and playing cards with cousin Mel

It's not Christmas without Grandma

All the family's dressed in black

And we just can't help but wonder

Should we open up her gifts,

Or send them back (send them back)

Grandma got run over by a reindeer

Walking home from our house Christmas eve

You can say there's no such thing as Santa

But as for me and grandpa we believe

Now the goose is on the table

And the pudding made of fig

And the blue and silver candles

That would just have matched the hair on grandma's wig

I've warned all my friends and neighbors

Better watch out for yourselves,

They should never give a license

To a man who drives a sleigh

And plays with elves

Grandma got run over by a reindeer

Walking home from our house Christmas eve

You can say there's no such thing as Santa

But as for me and grandpa we believe

Singin' grandpa

Grandma got run over by a reindeer

Walking home from our house Christmas eve

You can say there's no such thing as Santa

But as for me and grandpa we believe

Merry Christmas

 ** _For those of you who made it this far - thanks again for the reviews and PMs. I would love to know your reactions and thoughts about this one._**


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